


Lie Until it's True

by PerfectlyGruntled



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fuck JK Rowling, Humor, No Twincest, Partners in Crime, Talk of Menstruation, The Scarlet Letter, crimson monsoon, jk can suck my genderfluid spirit-dick, period, shark week, that being said gosh the twins are wonderful, the devil's week, when does a joke stop being a joke?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26844178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectlyGruntled/pseuds/PerfectlyGruntled
Summary: Reader is a proud Gryffindor and a known affiliate of the Weasley Twins. They eat together, they have class together, they make mischief together, and the latter especially can lead to some tight situations. It all begins at breakfast when the pair tells an innocent lie to make their little brother uncomfortable and things quickly spiral out of control.
Relationships: Fred Weasley/Reader, Fred/Reader/George, George Weasley/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 175





	1. Commit to the Bit

**Author's Note:**

> I'm busy because all of my teachers have decided to collectively penetrate my asshole with more work than necessary so I don't know how often I'll update this bad boy but hey, whatever happens happens.

“No! She wouldn’t! No girl would go and do a thing like that!” Ron exclaimed with the desperation of a man whose world was crumbling around him.

“What’s so hard to believe?!” Fred shot back, visibly affronted.

Hermione sighed, shaking her head and burying her face further in the Daily Prophet, which Ron had been reading over her shoulder not two seconds ago. “Boys…”

It had all begun with the twins managing mischief, as most notable things did. They’d decided to start that morning by poking fun at Ron, giving him a healthy side of discomfort with his toast and eggs. Unfortunately, things had turned very personal very quickly.

“Yeah,” George huffed, disgruntled stance matching his twin’s as he glared indignantly down at Ron from across the table. They hadn’t sat down yet and seemed opposed to the idea. It was beginning to draw attention from the table behind. “If Lavender can go and snog a twat like you, anything’s possible.”

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!”

“I rather think [Y/N] has a bit more sense than Lavender does,” Hermione added coolly, gaze souring as her eyes scanned the same spot a few times over, obviously not absorbing a word.

Both Parvati and Ron shot the newspaper angry looks. The twins simply scoffed, hands pressed to their hearts.

“You wound us, Hermione.”

“Such scalding remarks.”

“Really, the disrespect.”

“Implying that we are a less sensible choice than _Ronald_.”

“The _nerve_.”

“Well you didn’t “snog” [Y/N] and that’s that,” Hermione stated, looking up from the paper to scan their faces in a decidedly cool way that said, “I’m correct so don’t press it.”

And it just so happened that she was. Fred and George had voiced the possibility ( _read: had spouted a fountain of bullshit_ ) upon arriving at breakfast that you had kissed them - _both_ of them - and had continued on to specify that you had very much enjoyed it. And, upon discovering that the general populous found their suggestion ( _blatant and thorough lie_ ) everything from unbelievable to downright repulsive, had become quite offended. 

“Hold on, who’s snoggin’ who?” Seamus asked, looking to Parvati for interpretation while Dean observed a sickly Ron with equal parts disgust and amusement.

“[Y/N] and me,” the twins informed in a tone that conveyed quite genuinely that the alleged kissing was old news and Dean and Seamus needed to catch up. 

Dean rolled his eyes, waving them off and going back to buttering his biscuit. “Come off it.”

“Morning!”

The entire cluster of fourth and sixth years, including Hermione, looked up at the sound of your voice. Even Harry was perceptive enough to follow their gazes before his eyes fell back to scanning The Prophet for any mention of himself.

You blinked, eyes flicking over the group which had fixed its attention so suddenly and undividedly on you. You cleared your throat, raising a brow at George, then Fred, then the red-faced Ron. “...Something happen?”

“Fred and George say-”

“We snogged, right?” Fred cut in, tone and expression the picture of casual and unconcerned.

Without missing a beat you responded:

“Oh yeah, loads of times.”

The entire table went ballistic. Such exclamations as “What?!” and “You wouldn’t!” and “Them?! [Y/N], have you lost your mind?!” could be heard, all from Ron, while the rest deflated as if they’d lost a bet. 

The rest, all except Hermione. “Really?” she asked slowly, attention returned to the paper as she flipped a page and took in the headline. The twins held their breath and you now being the accessory to their innocent suggestion did the same. “Because I could have sworn George said it only happened once.”

George opened his mouth to defend his first lie with a presumably better one but you beat him to it. 

“Loads of times in _quick succession_ ,” you excused casually, taking a seat across from Hermione and raising a challenging brow. “You know how it is when things get hot and heavy.”

“Or do you?” Parvati muttered, shooting Hermione a glare that she smugly ignored.

“Whatever you say,” Hermione hummed, taking a bite of porridge before excusing herself from the conversation with the turning of another page.

Harry, on the other hand, looked up from the paper Hermione was holding - satisfied that there was no mention of him, Skeeter-related or otherwise - and furrowed a brow. “Wait...sorry, what’ve I missed?”

“Fred and George snogged [Y/N],” Ron groaned into his arms, voice and shoulders sagging with woe and defeat.

Harry’s brows shot up and he looked from you to Ron to the twins and back. “What?”

“I snogged them,” you repeated, now just as committed to defending your pride as the twins were. Your eyes narrowed and you barely concealed a smirk. “With tongue.”

Ron choked on a bit of scrambled egg. Harry simply looked affronted.

“But- But they’re _twins_!”

“The more the merrier.”

“Don’t you find it...odd?”

You shrugged. “Come on, Harry. You can’t tell me you haven’t had that fantasy.”

Before Harry could respond, which wasn’t saying a lot since he looked too embarrassed to push a word out, you felt Fred and George flank you on the bench, moving as they broke quite possibly the longest quiet streak of their lives.

“'That fantasy?!'”

“Are we just a fetish to you?!”

“Merlin, [Y/N], I thought better of you.”

“But I guess you were just in it for a scandal.”

“Scarlet woman.”

You couldn’t help but grin, the amusement in their tones infecting you. “Sorry, boys, it’s truly all about the taboo for me, nothing more.”

Ron gagged very loudly and violently. His undigested beans were throwing a fit.

The twins only scoffed and you could feel them jostling with mirth. Fred nudged you, grin filled to the brim with mischief. “That’s not what you were saying last night.”

Ron shot to his feet amidst a chorus of groans, hand flying to his mouth as he lurched a little. “Toilet,” he managed, hurrying towards the exit. He sped right past a bewildered Lavender, who halted to gaze after him. The perplexed “Ronny-Poo?” that somehow carried all the way to your end of the table brought you empathy for Ron’s condition in the form of a repulsed shiver. 

Hermione wasn’t nearly as affected. On the contrary, she only bothered to look up so that she could shift herself over before Lavender took Ron’s vacated seat, earning a cold glare from both her victim and Parvati. She paid it no mind. “Oh really now. First you kissed once, then several times, now you’ve had-”

“Shagged,” Harry broke in, ever the pillar of maturity. 

“Had _sex_ ,” Hermione persisted, rolling her eyes as a shudder sounded from beside her. “For God’s sake, Harry, it’s not You-Know-Who’s name, it’s a perfectly natural-”

“Fine!” George interrupted, face falling in defeat as he leaned back a little. “If it’ll get you off this bloody topic yeah, we may have bent the truth a little bit.”

“But not much,” you added quickly, raising a brow. “Snogged several times, final answer.” If you knew anything it was how to lash yourself to a sinking ship. 

“Several glorious times,” Fred added, joining you in your quest to keep the lie going for as long as you could.

“Truly mindboggling experience. Dream come true.” George slung an arm around your shoulder as he spoke and you all gazed challengingly at Hermione, a united front.

Hermione looked the three of you over, visibly battling with the urge to win out and the knowledge that arguing just provoked more foolishness. Finally, she conceded, standing up. “Of course it was. I have to go to Arithmancy but I’ll be excited to hear about who’s taking you to the Yule Ball, [Y/N]. Assuming you’ve already worked that out.” With one last look of smug triumph, she strolled off. 

You blinked, staring after her, and a blush began to creep up your neck to your cheeks. A genius, that Hermione. Underestimating her capacity for evil had been your downfall. You were crammed between your best friends, to identical and identically _attractive_ suitors who you hadn’t even kissed, and that last detail had been getting kind of fuzzy the more you insisted on its legitimacy. You had the potential to hurt some real feelings.

Fred raised a brow, leaning forward a little to guide your gaze away from Hermione. “It’s a good question.”

George shot him a serious look, as rare as it was cute. _Bail_. It came too late, however. The damage was done.

“Yeah, [Y/N], which one _are_ you taking?” Seamus called over, invested once more. 

“I, uh…” You cleared your throat, dragging your embarrassed stare away from Fred’s tie and glancing around. God, which one indeed. They were both so outgoing, so clever, so funny, and their subtle differences only endeared you to each one. George’s unintelligible handwriting that even he couldn’t decipher, Fred’s uncanny ability to charm his skipping stones and then lie about charming his skipping stones… Did your face always feel this hot? “I’m not really one for balls.”

“That’s not what you were sa-”

“I think that’s enough chaos for this morning,” George interrupted, cutting off his twin’s original and undoubtedly hilarious quip. 

Fred glanced at you, grin drawing a matching one from you as he pressed a reassuring hand to the small of your back, clambering up. “If we don’t make it to divination in time, Trelawny’ll castrate us.”

“Hold on!”

The pair froze and all three of your heads swiveled to look at Parvati, who had the dangerous gleam of a starved romantic in her eye. “Aren’t you going to kiss her goodbye?”

The entire table, you included, shifted to look at the twins. You were fairly certain the shade their faces turned could rival yours and for a moment you allowed yourself to feel awed and honored that they spared any embarrassment, so rare with them, on you. You watched them exchange stumped glances, eyebrows speaking a language you couldn’t interpret, before, synchronized, they leaned down to each press a kiss to one of your cheeks.

It was a chaste show of affection, and only for appearances, but even so the quickened beating of your heart pounded in your ears so loudly in nearly drowned out Fred’s mumbled: “See you in Charms.” Your eyes felt unfocused and your head rather dizzy but you still managed to register the speed at which they departed and the astonishing lack of a goodbye quip. 

You swallowed, composing yourself as best you could as you turned back, breath light and short, to face Parvati. “Are you happy now?”

“Did you turn that color when they snogged you, too?”

“I will bloody hex you, Thomas, don’t think I won’t.”

“Come on, it’s clearing out,” Harry sighed, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder, gaze dropping to Ron’s. “Think he’s coming back?”

“I’ll take it!” Lavender, who had thus far been getting a play-by-play from Parvati and a very embarrassed Neville, exclaimed. She stood, grabbing Ron’s bag and wand and joining Parvati, heading for the dungeons. The pair was doing a lot more giggling than you felt comfortable with. 

Harry sighed again, drawing a raised brow from you. “They’re more...clingy than usual, right? Ron and Lavender?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Harry,” you responded easily, glad to be discussing someone else’s failed romantic escapades. “It’s perfectly normal to have your tongue in someone else’s mouth more often than your own.”

“Suppose you’d know all about that,” he teased, shooting you a sly but friendly grin and adjusting his glasses. “You’re lying, right? It’ll challenge Ron’s entire worldview if you aren’t.”

You hoisted your bag over your shoulder and grabbed an untouched cranberry scone from George’s plate, leveling the pastry at the Boy who Lived. “ _Several times_ , Harry.”

Harry nodded slowly before shooting you a friendly smile and walking off, leaving you in the mostly empty Great Hall. You checked the giant clock above the doorway, then your watch. An hour and a half to yourself and no one to spend it with. Now that you thought about it, maybe you were rather dependent on the twins...no, that couldn't be right. Puzzled and still warm in the face you strolled off, set on finding a worthy waste of time.


	2. Keep Bending the Truth, I'm Sure That'll Work Out for You

When you sat down between the twins in Charms it was as if the morning never happened. Fred was beside you at the desk and George had dragged a chair to his usual spot, settled beside the table and carelessly blocking the path down the middle of the classroom. Flitwick had given up making him move three years ago and the fact that he made it that long was evidence of his iron will.

“How was Divination?” you asked as you plopped down, easing into your usual friendly dynamic now that you were free of nosey fourth-years.

“A worthy use of time, as usual,” Fred chuckled. “Though I think she might’ve had a genuine vision this time.”

“Yeah, she said she saw a _hot date_ in my future,” George grinned, holding a hand to his heart when you rolled your eyes. 

“Could’ve sworn she said that about _my_ future, actually,” Fred hummed in fake retrospection, stroking his chin. “You ought to have your inner eye checked, George.”

“She said a beloved pet was going to die,” Lee Jordan corrected from the table beside George, voice a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“We don’t have any pets,” Fred pointed out.

“She could mean Ron,” George frowned, glancing at Fred who enthusiastically agreed with his theory.

Before you could point out that Eroll had one quivering wing in the grave - that poor bird could barely make the journey between your houses and you lived one town away - Flitwick interrupted, chuckling good-naturedly as he surveyed your wall of buffoonery before turning to the board. “Today we will be learning the Hurricane Hex, or _auria tormentium_. Full marks to those who can produce a light puff before the end of class.”

With a wave of his hand, you were sent to work. You loved Charms because of Flitwick’s teaching style. He gave you the incantation, the movement, the tools, and then let you spend the rest of an hour and a half goofing off as you pleased. 

You _hated_ Charms because you had about as much talent for it as Hagrid did for baking.

“ _Auria tormentium_ ,” Fred punctuated, twirling his wand in a violent circle. “ _Auria tor_ \- okay, it definitely flickered that time.”

“That’s because you’re waving your wand like a bloody flogger,” you pointed out, watching his candle flame dance. “You need to be less aggressive. _Auria tormentium_.” You waved your wand in a fluid loop. The candle didn’t respond.

“Wow, yeah, you really seem to know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut up, Fred. At least I don’t sound like Snape.”

“Looks like I’m getting the invitation,” George chuckled, shooting his brother a gloating grin. “Tough luck, mate.”

You paused, ignoring the sour look Fred retaliated with. “...You two know I’m not asking either of you to the Yule Ball, right?”

They wasted half a second on being flabbergasted before marching on. “Oh yeah, it’s only the first one in two-hundred years.”

“Just a small historical moment. No, you should really spend it with people other than your best friends. Maybe one of the Durmstrangs.”

“Or Beauxbatons. They’d definitely show you a mediocre time.”

“I hear Millicent Bulstrode is single.”

You scoffed, shaking your head and looking back and forth between them. “I’m not asking either of you because I’m not going.”

Fred raised a surprised brow. “You’re joking. You have to go.”

“Yeah, there’s no point if you don’t,” George frowned, downtrodden expression making your heart twinge.

“I’m sure you both can find some way to entertain yourselves at a massive, extravagant party,” you consoled, though you couldn’t help but feel touched that they valued your presence so highly. 

“Like what?” Fred sulked.

“Fuck with Ron or something, I don’t know.”

“Yeah, two lonely guys harassing another equally lonely guy,” George grumbled, waving his wand in a slow, sad swirl. “Really hilarious idea, [Y/N], that’ll be delightful.”

“Who knows, maybe he’ll manage to get a date.”

“You’re abandoning us, no need to abandon reality too.”

“I’m not _abandoning_ you,” you scoffed, silencing them before they could protest. “I’m not. I just don’t want to go, it’s not my scene.”

“How would you know?” Fred huffed.

“Because we muggles have stuff like this all through primary school,” you responded honestly. “Girl scout dances, PTA events, school stuff.”

Their faces darkened when you mentioned the PTA. The first time you’d mentioned the Parent-Teacher Association, probably four years ago, they’d foolishly made it known that they had no clue what it was. You’d enthusiastically explained the oppressive fascist nature of the Piss-Trolls Association and were now too embarrassed to confess your crimes.

“So in the muggle world dances are for, like, blood sacrifices, or…”

God, eventually you’d have to fess up, or at least stop feeding the lie before it got back to Arthur.

“Absolutely. That’s absolutely what PTA dances are for.”

George shuddered, shaking his head. “Creepy. But wizard balls aren’t like that at all! They’re like parties.”

“And they taste great.”

“Jesus, Fred!”

“Look, if it’s a traumatic event for you of course we understand that you don’t want to go,” he continued in a tone the exact opposite of his previous one, patting your back supportively.

“Yeah,” George hummed, shooting you a genuine smile. “I’m happy to skip too. I’m sure most everyone will be in the Great Hall, could be a night for some legendary trouble-making.”

You smiled gratefully as Fred nodded in serious agreement, touched by their thoughtfulness. But while a night of “legendary trouble-making” sounded like a dream-come-true, you couldn’t be the reason they missed out on such a magical dance. “Nah, you two go. You said it yourselves, it’s gonna be a historic night.”

Before either of them could respond, you all heard someone clear their throat from the other side of the desk. You all leaned forward to see Flitwick standing there, regarding the three of you with a bemused gaze. “One hour left. One more failing grade and I’ll be sending an owl home.” He gave the boys a knowing look, offering you an imploring one, before strolling off to prevent an exhausted Cedric Diggory from setting his table on fire.

“He didn’t have to say that,” George grumbled, returning to his feeble efforts to blow his damn candle out. Their mother was more fearsome than both your parents combined and she leveled a great deal of that motherly wrath at you. As if the twins would have blossomed into studious and polite gentlemen without your interference. It made visiting the Borough frustratingly awkward, especially because Arthur absolutely adored you. Yet another reason for Molly to condemn his “hobbies.” Truly, you loved them, but that family needed some serious muggle-style counseling. 

“Come on, it can’t be that difficult,” you huffed, rolling your sleeves up and fisting your want in your hand. You recited the spell as best you could, heart jumping when the flame dodged unnaturally. “It flickered!”

“George blew on it,” Fred tattled and you cursed, shoulder-chuckling the chortling twin.

The rest of the period passed in a similar fashion. First Fred managed to put his candle out, then George, which left you to fend off your own frustration and magical breezes in your face. To their credit, they became quite supportive when it got down to the five-minute mark, overwhelming you with advice on pronunciation and encouragement until your candle finally flickered out as most of your class was packing up.

Your lips stretched into a sheepish grin as George gave you a congratulatory slap on the back, and you couldn’t help but notice that if they ever truly applied themselves to academics they’d be on par with Hermione. It was a scary realization.

“Don’t forget, I want seven paragraphs on the modern application of the Hurricane Hex for Wednesday,” Flitwick called after you as the three of you filed out, guessing (correctly) that you hadn’t taken a look at the homework on the blackboard. 

Your complaints about “seven fucking paragraphs on a spell that’s basically a fan” carried you into the dungeons and through Snape’s door. You all took your usual seats, Lee, Fred, you and George clumped at a table in the back corner where you could sneak the most bullshit. Another three minutes went by and the Slytherins filed boredly in right under the wire. If you ever cut it that close to 10:50 you’d have a week of organizing expired ingredients but Snape’s love for his house and his hatred for you was no secret.

“How long does it take to get here from the greenhouse, anyway?” George muttered spitefully, watching the other house unpack their things.

Snape stood from his desk at the front of the room before you could respond, scanning over the Gryffindor side of the room. “Where is Ms. Johnson?”

“Hospital Wing,” you and Alicia Spinnet blurted. The three of you were quite close having shared a dormitory and a Quidditch team for several years, and it was common knowledge all along the girls’ staircase that Angelina’s cramps were comparable to the Cruciatus Curse.

Snape searched between you two, black eyes glittering with an invasive suspicion, before he recoiled slightly, lip curling in thinly veiled disgust. “I see. Send her to my office when she...recovers.”

The boys you were sitting with shifted to look at you, attention fanning out when Alicia twisted in her seat. 

“He knows.”

“Of course he knows,” you hissed, cringing at the thought. “He’s not exactly young, he’s had to’ve picked it up somewhere.”

“Knows what?” Lee frowned, looking between you.

“I don’t like that,” Alicia decided, wrinkling her nose. “It’s bad enough talking to Hooch about it and she has experience.”

“Who says he doesn’t?” you shrugged, glancing at Snape as he scrawled out the day’s procedure on the blackboard.

“Experience with _what_?”

“He’s always moody,” Alicia commented, nodding along. “Maybe he’s one of those poor people that have it twenty-four seven.”

“It would explain a lot.”

“Explain _what_?!”

“Weasley!” Snape called harshly, shooting George a dangerous look before returning to his list.

George glared angrily back at him before leaning forward, voice a curious whisper. “What does it explain?”

“Yeah, what are you talking about?” Fred added. “Will Angelina be good for practice tonight?”

“She’s going to be okay but I’m running practice tonight,” Alicia hummed, glancing at the board and lighting a fire beneath her cauldron.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “and we’re talking about Snape bleeding out of his-”

“Today you will be concocting the Soothing Solution,” Snape interrupted, and you had the deeply uncomfortable feeling that he’d heard your entire conversation.

“Topical,” Alicia murmured, glancing over her shoulder before shifting to face the front.

“I’m sure we could smuggle some out,” Fred whispered, glancing from Snape to you. “If it’d help.”

You grinned slowly, glancing from him to an equally concerned George. You didn’t usually go into detail about your period with them, mainly because showing any weakness around the pair was quite a risk, but when you did throw out an errant comment about how severe cramps could be they tended to be quite sympathetic. Evidently, they listened. You’d known them for six years but it was still a pleasant surprise.

“Yeah,” you answered covertly, giving a pleased smile. “Angie’ll need some before sleep and who knows if Madam Pomfrey’ll account for that. Will you be needing a distraction?”

They shook their heads, George leaning forward to mumble to you, “Nah, we can’t keep drawing attention to ourselves or he’ll call it. We can get a flask-full when you turn yours in.”

You nodded, watching as they each got to work mincing the fresh beetles Lee had returned with. You appreciated the level of effort they were putting into crushing the juices out, probably more than they had that entire year. Occasionally you forgot that, for every tease or jest they offered you or their other friends, there was a deep well of respect and love behind it. How Molly could reduce them to bullheaded imps when they operated on such levels of affection was beyond you.

Fred glanced at you as you started shaving your Fig Root, clearing his throat and raising a brow. “Will you, uh, be good for the Ball? You shouldn’t decide while your hormones are all off, it’s not as reliable.”

Nope, there wasn’t a single well-meaning bone in their bodies.


End file.
